


Voodoo Magic

by Narcotic_Dollie



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: ...until he's not., Alpha John, Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Animal Sacrifice, BAMF Harry Watson, But only for a little while!, Car molestation and weird almost sex, Crack, F/M, Female John Watson, Gray Sherlock, Greg is a good cop, John is a pretty lady, John's nose is apparently a huge turn on for everyone, M/M, Magical Realism, Moriarty doesn't understand boundries, Moriarty's eyebrows are on fleek, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Omega John, Omega Verse, Sherlock just wants John, Slightly inappropriate sibling touching, Surprise Tranatula!, Unilock, Witch Doctor Moriarty, but it's not gross or anything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-16 10:22:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3484715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narcotic_Dollie/pseuds/Narcotic_Dollie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sherlock likes John but hates his scent, and witch doctor Moriarty saves the day!</p>
<p> <i>The witch doctor opens her mouth to answer, but before she gets out the reply his hair shines a pale silver and the shorn ends grow back to their original length. Harry lets out a whistle and her eyebrows migrate into her hair line.</i></p>
<p>
  <i>"Goddamn, that's some strong magic," she breathes, awestruck. "We could make a killing in the weave business. Do you think if we cut off your arm, it'll grow back too?"</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Meeting

The first time Sherlock meets John is in the library tech lab. The other man is sitting at the adjacent computer and is taking so much flu medication that he does not smell like much of anything other than spearmint vapor rub and decongestants.

"You reek of sick and your incessant sniveling is both filthy and a distraction to everyone," he finally snaps after the fifth sniffle.

"Finals wait for no man," the blonde quips without even looking away from his screen, but the corners of his mouth twitch up in a semblance of a smile. Something inside Sherlock's stomach flutters.

"A future doctor should know better," he mumbles and that seems to get his fellow student's attention. The other man turns to regard him, clearly puzzled, and Sherlock's stomach does another flip. He is one hundred percent positive that this individual has the most adorable snub nose in all of mankind.

"How'd you guess that?"

"You've got three different browsers open on Trimethylaminuria. Considering you don't particularly smell like rotting fish, it wasn't that much of a leap to assume you are working on a medical research paper."

"Oh, right," the blonde chuckles sheepishly before regaining eye contact. "That was brilliant."

Sherlock is smitten.

\-----

They meet for coffee four times that week and John touches his arm exactly seven times, a total duration of six minutes and twenty nine seconds of physical contact. It is marvelous.

The next time they meet John is no longer taking his flu medication and it is awful.

Sherlock already knew that John was an alpha, like himself, and it had not bothered him. No one batted an eye at same gender couples these days. What did bother him however, was John's scent.

He doesn't stink of rotting fish, but it's a close call.

"Do you smell that?" Sherlock asks as John takes a seat across from him in the booth.

"Smell what?"

"I'm not sure, but it smells like dirty feet, wet dog, cabbage, and...," he pauses to sniff disdainfully, "...durian fruit."

"Huh, that's weird, I don't smell anything," John says after a moment. "Maybe they sat us by the rubbish bin. I'll ask for another table."

The waiter moves them to a table by the window but the odor seems to follow them. Sherlock grits his teeth and doesn't mention it again, because John says this is the best place to get Indian food and he doesn't want to insult him. Sherlock is beginning to think John has shit taste in eating establishments.

Their entrees arrive and they dig in, or Sherlock tries to but the strange garbage/feet smell has made him so nauseous that he barley gets in a few bites before he has to stop. John remains blissfully unaware and devours most of his plate, unhindered by the alarming stench. When he finishes, the blonde looks up at him and grins impishly.

"You've got some curry on your lip," John says lowly as he leans across the table and Sherlock's heart might very well beat a hole in his chest because John has never touched his face before and he hadn't properly prepared a space for this yet in his mind palace because he hadn't calculated for John to touch him anywhere but his arm for two more dates and what if John kisses him he might explode into glitter and then John will never kiss him aga--

The stench is like a slap to the face.

The taller alpha jerks out of his chair, rattling the table in the process and leaving a very shocked John stretched halfway over the table.

"Sherlock? Is everything all righ--,"

"I left the oven on!" He rushes, shrugging into his coat with unparalleled speed before turning and sprinting out the door.

John blinks slowly and looks down at his mostly empty plate, his mouth held in a tight line because he's almost certain Sherlock's dorm doesn't have an oven.

\-----

When Sherlock makes it back to his dorm room he collapses on his bed with a dramatic sigh, his coat swirling around him like a cape.

"What's wrong Sherly, did your puppy spurn your advances?" Moriarty asks with a chuckle while sewing a button eye onto his newest voodoo doll.

"He reeks."

"Oh honey, that's nothing a little trip to the groomers won't fix."

"You don't understand!" Sherlock exclaims, sitting up and glaring at his roommate. "It's not his hygiene that's the problem, it's his actual scent. I wish he wasn't an alpha. If he were a beta or an omega, I'd be guaranteed to find his scent tolerable."

"Oh well, you win some you lose some. Now come help me stick some pins into Carl Powers. This bitch told me my eyebrows looked shabby," Moriarty practically growls the last part, stabbing a pin into the doll's shoulder. "My eyebrows are on fleek!"

Sherlock just sighs dramatically again and flops back down, staring forlornly at the ceiling. Moriarty stops to look at him when he has a pin stuck halfway through the doll's Achilles heel.

"You're really torn up about this aren't you?"

"He's different from everyone else," Sherlock admits quietly, meeting Moriarty's eyes and doing his best impersonation of a very sad kitten.

"Alright darling, no need to beg, daddy will fix it for you," Moriarty says as he sets his doll down.

"Fix it?" Sherlock asks, sitting back up and crossing the room so fast that Moriarty is a little worried about the possibility of whiplash. "How could you fix it Jim?"

"Oh, I have a spell or two that might do the trick," Moriarty grins and leans up to press a quick kiss to the tip of the taller man's nose. Sherlock doesn't bat an eye at this because everyone knows witch doctors don't understand personal boundaries.

Also, Jim is insane. But thats hardly the point.

"Now why don't you bring that man of yours over tomorrow at around seven and let daddy work a little magic."

\-----

Witch doctors don't have second genders, so Moriarty remains blissfully unaware of John's aroma. He does, however, notice how perfect John's nose is and he can see why the other genius is so reluctant to let him go.

"You're practically edible," Moriarty purrs while sliding close to the shorter man and John flushes and stammers oh-so-prettily at his forwardness. Sherlock raises a brow but stays silent.

"You must be the John our sweet Sherlock is so taken with. I'm Jim Moriarty," the dark eyed man leans so close that their lips are almost touching. "Hi!"

John jumps and makes a gurgled noise. He tries to step back to make a quick retreat but only ends up with his back flush against Sherlock's belly .

"None of that pet," Moriarty tsks as he takes another step forward to regain his lost ground. He isn't an exceedingly tall gentleman but John feels like he's looming over him all the same. "I was just trying to be polite." His voice has dropped to just above a whisper and then he's pressing their lips together.

John wrenches his head back and just barely gets out a startled, "What the fuc--," before Moriarty is mashing their faces back together.

"Jesus, get off me!" The blonde alpha exclaims while violently shoving his assailant away. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before turning his head to pin Sherlock with a glare. "You just let your friend go around snogging the guys you fancy?"

Sherlock at least has the decency to flush, which John thinks is quite lovely, but he can't fully enjoy it because the room has started to spin. He sways for a moment before his knees decide to give out. Sherlock wraps his arms around the little man's waist and eases him gently to the floor.

"Really Jim, was the snogging necessary?"

"Yes, yes, that's how I got him to ingest the sedative. Now quit being such a baby and help me get him on the bed."

Just before he blacks out, John thinks that this situation does not bode well for him.


	2. The Changing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A gerbil is murdered and the spell gets out of hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating change for gerbil murder, strong language, and female nudity.

When John starts to regain consciousness, he thinks that he's back in his own dorm.

Which is why he is understandably bewildered when he realizes that he is being restrained. The small alpha blinks his eyes open to better assess the situation and he can't help the noise of distress at what he sees.

The room is only illuminated by the soft light of the candles surrounding the bed, which has been moved to the center of the room. John is naked except for his startling red pants and his chest is covered in symbols and runes that look like they've been drawn on in blood.

"Good of you to join us Johnny boy," Moriarty acknowledges him from his place at his desk, but doesn't look up from the giant tome in his lap. "Sherlock will be back in a jiffy, so don't worry that lovely little brain of yours."

"What have you done to me?"

"I haven't done anything to you pet, the party hasn't even started yet," Moriarty says before his face contorts into a manic grin and he cackles madly. "That rhymed!"

John is becoming increasingly concerned about his well being, seeing as how all the clues point to Moriarty being bat shit insane and John is at his mercy. "Why've you drawn on me in blood?"

The witch doctor finally looks at John and smiles affectionately, like he's a dog that's being particularly stupid. Moriarty sets the old book down and gets up to slink closer, stoping when he's standing next to the blonde's hip. He dips down until his mouth is right above John's stomach, where some of the blood has gathered in the well of his belly button. Quick as a snake the taller man presses his lips over it and gives a few leisurely sucks, effectively drawing the red substance into his mouth.

It might have been sexy if John was not so unnerved.

Moriarty has moved and now his lips are mashed against John's, who is goddamn tired of this psychopath kiss assaulting him. John keeps his mouth firmly closed, which only makes the other man reach down and twist his nipple violently. John can't suppress the cry of pain and then his mouth is flooding with...

...tomato paste?

Moriarty has straightened back up and is grinning down at him, eyes dark as night. "Honestly John, how do you expect to be a doctor if you can't tell the difference between marinara sauce and actual blood?"

He starts running his finger over John's hipbones to draw small circles and the taller man makes a hum of appreciation. John's hips are quite bewitching. "The actual recipe calls for blood if course, but Sherlock wouldn't have it. He seems to be trying to make this whole experience as painless as possible. Isn't that just precious?"

Sherlock, as if summoned, walks through the door with a small brown box in his hands and a surgical mask covering his nose and mouth. His scent hits John a moment later, a combination of cedar, resin, and leather that had been comforting earlier that day, and now it has him snarling and thrashing wilding against his bindings. All he can think is, _'Dangerneutralizethreatmustkill.'_

"Did you get the goat, darling?"

"Really Jim, you thought I'd just pop out and buy a live goat in the middle of the night?" Sherlock snorts while toeing his shoes off by the door. "You'll just have to make do with this." 

Moriarty practically sprints to Sherlock, grabbing the box and grinning like its Christmas morning. He flips the lid open and the grin quickly turns to a scowl.

"A gerbil? You're making a lot of adjustments to mum's recipe."

"I hardly see why it matters what you use as long as it's alive."

John intends to ask what they mean to do with the gerbil, but he can't seem to stop growling. Sherlock finally looks at him and draws his eyebrows together in concern. He takes two long strides, coming closer to the prone alpha and reaching out a hand to settle him.

"It's fine John, we're only going to--," Sherlock cuts himself off as John jolts forward against his shackles and snaps at him so hard the curly haired man thinks he might have cracked a tooth.

 _"John,"_ he utters forlornly, hand hanging uselessly between them. The other has been reduced to a howling, spitting, and biting animal by his instincts and Sherlock is momentarily stricken. 

"He's gone feral," Moriarty grumbles, seemingly more irritated than concerned. "We'll have to do this now or he'll break through his bonds."

Sherlock nods and without another word Moriarty hoists himself up onto the bed and straddles John's hips. The blonde starts to thrash more savagely but he is ignored by the witch doctor, who now has the gerbil gripped tightly in one fist.

Moriarty starts to speak in an unknown language with his voice pitched low, swaying slightly. Sherlock attempts to move closer, but the air is suffocating with unseen magic and he can't bring himself any nearer. The witch doctor's eyes have rolled back so only the whites are visible, and the rodent is making a horrifying screaming sound. The candles flicker, John growls, and Moriarty twists and pulls the gerbil's head off with a sickening crack, spraying blood all over the blonde's face.

Sherlock thinks he might be sick.

All of John's muscles seem to seize at once and he starts undulating uncontrollably, his breaths coming out as tiny whimpers and pants now. He glows a bright gold and his bones are visibly moving underneath his skin.

Sherlock vomits.

John is screaming in earnest now and gleaming so brightly that the whole room is showered in his golden light. There is a final burst of magic and heat, which is so strong that Moriarty flys into the wall, then the candles go out, the screaming stops, and they are left in darkness.

"John?" Sherlock calls hesitantly. There is no reply.

"Be a dear Sherl and turn on the lights," Moriarty says, and Sherlock notes that he sounds disoriented. The tall alpha fumbles along the wall until he finally finds the switch. He turns on the lights.

Moriarty is slumped against the east wall with blood flowing freely from his nose. He pulls himself to his feet with a grimace, wincing as he rubs the back of his neck. "It's been a while since a magic rebound has been strong enough to knock me back," he murmurs, more to himself than anyone else. Sherlock is staring at him, clearly at a loss, and the witch doctor sighs.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Gaze in wonder upon my handy work," Moriarty quips and Sherlock nods before gingerly crossing over to the bed where John lays.

Except he doesn't look like John anymore. He is unconscious and appears to be very much a woman now.

The blonde's hair has become so long that it is tumbling off the bed and the tips are flirting with the floor. John is still only wearing red pants and ruined runes drawn in marinara sauce cover his small breasts. This body is shorter and slighter than his previous one and John's features appear to be more delicate.

His nose, however, is unchanged and as charming as ever. Thank god for small miracles.

"What have you done?" Sherlock asks in a growl, glaring pointedly at the shorter man.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Moriarty asks, anger written all over his face. "First off sweetheart, you only asked for a more bearable scent, which I delivered, and you would know if you took that stupid mask off." He accents this statement by ripping the nuisance mask of Sherlock's face.

John's scent has indeed changed. He smells like warm blackberry cobbler and vanilla ice cream underlined with classic omega musk. The smell is so magnificent it makes Sherlock's toes curl.

"Secondly, you're the one who decided to take liberties with mum's recipe!" Moriarty exclaims, throwing his arms in the air. "Oh, look at me, I'm Sherlock Holmes and even though I wasn't born a witch doctor I _clearly_ know everything so I must know better than Jim because I have a _big fat STUPID HEAD!_ "

"I didn't know he would turn into a woman!" 

"Is this really so bad?" Moriarty asks, lips turning up into a smirk. He slithers across the room to stand by Sherlock and pulls him over to the bed. "He is just as enchanting in this body as he was in the other," the witch doctor purrs in Sherlock's ear, taking the alpha's large hand and laying it on the omega's soft belly. "I know you don't mind what his first or second gender is, just as long as he's still _your John._ "

There is a lump in his throat that Sherlock tries to swallow, but it doesn't seem to work. Because Moriarty is right, Sherlock doesn't care as long as John is still John, but he's not so sure how the alpha-turned-omega will see it.

It turns out Sherlock won't have to wait long to find out, because John chooses that moment to open his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again my dears, I hope this chapter was to your liking! Please feel free to leave a comment to let me know what you think.
> 
> I still have no beta or brit-picker. If anyone is interested, let me know!


	3. The Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is a girl, Sherlock is an alpha, and Moriarty is handsy.

When John comes to this time, he is still shackled to the bed and everything feels wrong. An unmistakable wave of panic is rising in his chest and he has to shut his eyes and take a deep breath to steel himself against it.

_'One thing at a time,'_ he thinks to himself before chancing a glance down at his hands. They are smaller than before, he has to suppress a hysterical giggle at this fact, but on the plus side he can easily slip them free now. Once his hands are unbound he jerks at his feet, but they remain too large to be liberated. He makes to look down at them but he can't ignore the changes to his body when they're staring him in the face.

John makes a distressed noise and bolts upright, his hands flying to his face. When he pulls them back they appear to be smeared with a small amount of blood, or is it tomato sauce again? He ducks down and flicks his tongue over his palm quickly. Definitely blood. 

That's when he notices the severed gerbil head staring at him from the side of the bed.

John starts yanking at his feet urgently, clawing at the metal bindings with his hands, and he knows he looks like a wild thing chewing off its own foot but _he doesn't fucking care_ because he needs to get away right this very second or he will most assuredly lose his shit.

"--ohn. John!" He hears through the cloud of hysteria but he doesn't acknowledge it, just keeps wrenching at his leg.

Long arms wrap around him in a vice grip and his back is pulled flush against a broad chest, effectively immobilizing him. John reaches a new level of terror and bites the closest arm as hard as he can until he can feel blood well up through the fabric of the shirt sleeve and into his mouth.

"Stop John, you're hurting yourself," pleads a voice in his ear but the blonde doesn't head it. He jerks his head to the side and rips the shirt sleeve, which earns a hiss of pain from his attacker.

The arms clamp down harder and he hears a snarl followed by a sudden pressure to the back of his neck. John can make out a high pitched whining and is horrified to realize it is coming from him. Another growl rumbles through his assailant as the pressure on his neck increases and suddenly all of the fight drains out of him, his body going limp without his consent.

"Get his legs free, Jim," a voice murmurs into his neck and John realizes it's Sherlock and that he is currently biting him. The med student pants to try and catch his breath and lets his eyes fall closed. Now that the panic is waning he can smell the other alpha and he feels overwhelmed by the scent of him. It screams _aggressionpowerprotectionmasculinityvirility._

John is mortified to find that his pants have begun to dampen.

"Uh-oh, looks like Johnny girl likes it rough," says a smug Moriarty as he releases the newly turned omega from the shackles around his ankles. John whimpers miserably and remains limp in the alpha's grasp.

Sherlock opens his mouth to relinquish his hold on the blonde's neck but continues to grip John tight to his chest. "It's alright John, we're not going to hurt you," the violinist whispers, his plush lips brushing the rim of the shorter man's ear with every word. A shiver runs through John and he can't help but squirm a little. He feels the alpha smile against him. "Will you be good for me, John?"

John nods.

Sherlock removes his teeth and releases his hold on the shorter man. John turns his head to meet the curly haired man's eyes.

"I need something to cover up...," John gestures at his breasts, "... _these things_ ," he finishes lamely. His voice is soft, feminine, and completely wrong.

Sherlock nods and slides off the bed, making his way over to the dresser. Moriarty appears in his stead, holding a towel that he has already used to clean the blood off his own nose with.

"Ready for your bath princess?" He asks, humor shining in those black eyes.

John nods.

Slowly, Moriarty drags the towel over the blonde's face. When he is satisfied there, the dark haired man moves it down John's body and begins to wipe the tomato sauce off his chest and stomach. The witch doctor is surprisingly gentle about the whole thing, until his spare hand wanders over the omega's breasts. He pinches the pink bud of John's nipple hard enough to make the blonde hiss.

"Such a pretty puppy," Moriarty says softly, drawing closer. "You're the first person I've ever tried a body modification spell on," he confesses as he leans in and runs his tongue over John's collarbone, causing goose flesh to rise in its wake. His voice changes into a high-pitched sing song as he screeches, " _ **YOU POPPED MY CHERRY!**_ "

"Enough," Sherlock is back holding a long sleeve aubergine button down and offering it to John. Moriarty is still grinning wolfishly as he steps away and allows the small omega to pull on the shirt.

"Now John, I understand that this is an abrupt change and I can assure you this is not at all how I expected this to turn out."

"How did you think it was going to turn out?"

"I thought you'd be turned into an omega or a beta, but would retain your original male form," Sherlock replies, giving Moriarty a sideways glance.

"Wasn't my fault you decided to mess with my spells," Moriarty replies with a shrug.

John rubs his forehead in irritation. "So you just planned to change my second gender without my consent. Well, that makes everything **so** much better."

"...bit not good?" Sherlock asks hesitantly, eyebrows knit together in confusion.

"Bit not good, yeah," John grumbles, but he isn't panicking anymore and seems resigned, which Sherlock finds odd. "Why is me not being an alpha so important to you anyways? I never pegged you for one of those AO extremists."

Sherlock mumbles something that John can't make out.

"What was that?"

"He says you smelled dreadful, darling," the witch doctor says with a manic grin, like this is the most entertaining show in the world.

"You did all this because you didn't like my scent?" John turns to face the alpha fully, his dark blue eyes flashing with anger. "Sherlock, that's insane! We've barely known each other ten days!"

"Why aren't you more upset about your primary gender change?"

"Excuse me?" John blinks, apparently taken aback by the abrupt change in conversation.

"You're irritated by it of course, but now that the initial shock is over, you aren't devastated like most people would be," Sherlock stalks foreword and John has to force himself not to flinch. The taller man stares at him for a moment until his mouth falls open into an 'o' shape.

"This has happened to you before," Sherlock states. It is not a question.

John remains silent.

"Someone very close to you used to practice magic on you," Sherlock says, and now he's circling John like he's a bloody shark. "Was it a friend? A teacher? A sibling?" John stares ahead but his hand twitches slightly at that last one. Sherlock smirks. "Ah...your brother?"

"That's not possible," Moriarty huffs, crossing his arms. "Our girl here would need a witch doctor father for that, and if that was the case, there's no way John would have been born without any magic."

"Don't be dull Jim," Sherlock says, turning his back to John to regard the other man fully. "His brother was obviously adopted."

"That still doesn't make any sense," Moriarty presses. "He was freaking out when he woke up to the transmutation circle drawn on him," Moriarty stops to purse his lips here. "He wouldn't have done that if he was used to magic."

"He must have used other methods. John, how did h--,"

Sherlock turns around to find the door open.

John is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter down! Do y'all think I should keep the crack tag on this?
> 
> Be sure to leave me feedback!


	4. Enter Gregory Lestrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets Greg and things get heated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part of this chapter is from John's point of view, so he refers to himself as a male. The second part is written from Lestrade's view point, so he thinks of John as a girl, because he doesn't know better. :D

John is too afraid to go to his dorm that night, so he hides in a utility closet until morning, making sure to leave the caps off of a few cleaning chemicals to mask his smell. He tries to sleep but it's fitful at best. This is partly out of fear of being found and partly because it's exceptionally cramped. Once the halls start to fill with students and faculty, the blonde eases out of the closet and tries to become anonymous in the crowd as he makes his way to the exits.

It's a difficult task, seeing as he's only wearing his underpants and a shirt.

"Oi, young miss! Are you alright?"

John's just made it out of Bart's main building when he's stopped by a fit met officer who looks to be in his late twenties, with prematurely greying hair and a tan complexion. The omega notes the three stripes on his sleeve marking him as sergeant.

"Miss? Everything alright?" He asks again, approaching slowly as if John is a startled deer who might bolt at any second.

"'M fine," John mumbles quickly without meeting the other man's eyes. The shorter man tries to step by the sergeant, but a firm hand on his shoulder halts the omega's progress.

"I'm afraid I can't let you go like that," the alpha, John can smell him now, says in a non-threatening tone, smiling apologetically. "You're putting out all kinds of distress pheromones," he explains gently, trying to catch John's eyes. "If I let you go smelling that way there's no telling what sort of trouble you'll find yourself in."

John knows that the officer is probably right, but the longer they stand out in the open like this the more nervous he becomes. He starts to shift his weight impatiently as he scans his surroundings for signs of Sherlock or Moriarty. The alpha must mistake all of the blonde's fidgeting for shivering, because before John realizes it, the other man has unbuttoned his uniform jacket and draped it over his shoulders.

"It's alright miss, I need you to calm down," the alpha says and John hadn't even noticed that he was hyperventilating. Now that he's become aware of it, the omega can't stop taking short, useless gasps of air and wonders _, 'What's wrong with this body?'_. The officer takes him gingerly by his arms and instructs, "Just breathe for me, sunshine."

John concentrates on taking deep breaths and in doing so inhales more of the other man's pine needle and lavender scent. It's heavenly.

To John's horror, his pants have become moist again.

The officer breathes in and turns beet red. John thinks that he may very well be the first person in all of history to die of humiliation.

"It's all fine," the man says comfortingly and flashes the omega a brief smile. "It's just biology, nothing to fret over. It's a compliment, really, coming from a pretty thing like you."

John whimpers when he hears the alpha call him pretty, slick practically gushing down his inner thighs.

"Jesus!" The man exclaims, immediately pulling the blonde to his police car. "We need to get you off the street."

John follows wordlessly and only pauses for a moment before slipping into the vehicle when the door is opened for him.

"I'm Sergeant Greg Lestrade, by the way," the officer introduces himself while getting behind the steering wheel. 

"I'm John."

"John? Unique name for a lady," Greg smiles at him from the rear view and John can't fight the moan that escapes him or the throb in his cunt as he drenches the backseat of the cruiser.

"Could you not be so damn adorable, please?" John snaps, because he is about done with all of this body's madness and Lestrade's boyish good looks.

"Sorry, sunshine!" The greying man says swiftly and pet names are apparently a trigger now too. John is certain that they will have to burn the backseat to get the smell of slutty omega out of the car.

"Can you just take me to Hackney?" John pants. 

"That's not really an ideal borough for the state you're in," Lestrade says with a frown.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's just a rough neighborhood, especially with you being all...," the alpha pauses to gesture wildly at John in the rear view mirror. "...All preheat flustered."

The blonde squirms and bites his lip to keep from making more slag noises. At this rate, he is most assuredly going to flood this car.

"Oh, come on!" Greg groans, "That wasn't even remotely sexy!"

"Just take it as a compliment, remember?" John hisses and Greg bangs his head against the steering wheel. "My sister has a flat in Hackney, she 'ought to be able to take care of me."

Lestrade's eyebrows shoot up in alarm.

"Not like that, she's not an alpha," the omega clarifies, though he feels like that was obvious. 

"Oh, right," Lestrade replies, relief prominent in his voice. "Just give me the address and I'll get you there safe and sound."

John moans, all the while thinking that it is insane to be so unbelievably turned on by the words 'safe' and 'sound'.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Just start driving!"

\-----

The flat is on Mare Street, and it takes Lestrade about thirty minutes to get them there. By the time they finally make it, John's 'come-fuck-me' scent is starting to make the alpha's brain go haywire.

"This is it," John states and Greg brings the car to a stop.

"I should probably walk you up," the Sergeant says, turning to better take in the omega's state. "You smell too nice to make it without catching somebody's attention."

John's eyes are closed and she is taking shallow breathes through parted thin lips. Her face is completely flushed and long strands of wheat colored hair have begun to stick to her neck.

She is the perfect picture of debauchery. Greg feels desire begin to pool in his belly.

"Are you always like this so far out from actual heat?"

"How do you mean?" John asks, her eyes opening slightly to regard the met officer.

"You seem really bothered and you've still got...," Greg stops here to take a whiff of the omega's blackberry cobbler and sex scent. It's decadent. "...another two or three days of preheat left before your actual heat hits."

"Fuck," John curses and now it's Greg's turn to bite his lip to keep himself from making primal noises. "This isn't even a real heat?"

Lestrade is suddenly alarmed. "Is this your first estrus?" He asks, abruptly serious.

John worries at her bottom lip before giving a curt nod. She can't seem to stop squirming.

"You've got to be at least nineteen. I've never heard of someone presenting so late!"

John winces.

"I've been told it'll get better for a few hours, um, after you, you know...," Lestrade stumbles, his face heating up in a strange mixture of mortification and hunger.

"...after what?" John prompts.

"...you orgasm," the alpha finishes and instantly John slides a hand down to her crotch. "Oi! Don't do that here!" Greg exclaims, but his eyes are transfixed on the junction between the omega's legs, where John's delicate hand is working clumsily over her red underwear.

The material is so soaked that it's almost translucent and her fingers are make wet squelching noises as they move awkwardly against herself, like she's never done this before. It's the most pornographic thing Greg has ever seen. He is beginning to lose his iron clad control of the situation.

"This isn't working!" John sobs after a few minutes of futility, bringing her hands up to cover her face.

"I could help," Greg breathes, soft brown eyes still fixated on the dripping mess of the omega's pants. The cab of the car goes silent.

"How?" John asks after a moment, peeking through her fingers at the alpha.

"I could use my fingers," he says, tearing his eyes away from her cunt to catch her gaze. "Or my mouth," he adds hastily and grins when the lady's hips give a little buck at his words. "I could take care of you and then you can meet up with your sister. No strings, I swear."

John doesn't answer right away, her blue eyes studying him intently while she makes up her mind. "Just your mouth, not actual sex?" She asks.

Greg nods, his tongue darting out to wet his lips in anticipation. 

"Please," she finally says, and the alpha doesn't have to be told twice. He's climbing over the front seats and tumbling into the back within seconds, which startles a laugh out of John. Greg thinks it's the hottest sound she's made so far.

He presses close until she's mashed against the door. Their eyes meet and the sergeant waits for John to nod before he buries his nose in the base of her neck, where her smell is strongest. He knows it's blasphemous, but he's pretty sure it's better than watching Doctor Who for the first time, better than earl grey tea, better than the Queen of bloody England.

The alpha just barley gets a hand down her pants when the glass behind John's head is smashed in by a crowbar.

"Get your booger hooks off her! She can't consent, you animal!"

Lestrade snarls and tries to shield his prize from view. Their assailant is a tall woman with short raven hair and an ass that will not quit. It is so impressive that the alpha's not sure it's street legal.

"Mine," Greg growls and the woman rolls her black eyes.

"She's not anyone's, you maniac," and before he can form a rebuttal, she's thrown something into the car with them. "Sic 'em, Seymour!"

Lestrade is hit in the face with a tarantula. An honest to goodness, I-shit-you-not, _goddamn tarantula._

He shrieks.

Somewhere in the scuffle, or ridiculous flailing, poe-tay-toe, puh-ta-toe, the mystery woman reaches in to unlock and open the door. As Greg is flinging the tarantula back out the ruined window, he sees them disappear around the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I honestly don't know what happened with this chapter. I started it out just working on getting John to Harry's, and then suddenly almost car sex. Originally they do have weird preheat sex, but it didn't feel right (I've never written a sex science and I was embarrassed, not gonna lie)...so...surprise tarantula. I hope this version is enjoyable!
> 
> Next chapter, we get boy!John back! HURRAY! Do you think Greg should come back at some point, or was this cameo enough? Should Sherlock find out about the almost sex and have a meltdown?


	5. The Sister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Harriet Watson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did some art for fem!John if you're interested. Here's the link: http://theprettiestponyintown.tumblr.com/post/115268064865/colored-and-inked-fem-john-for-voodoo-magic
> 
> Enjoy!

John doesn't know exactly what's happening, only that within the span of a single minute he's gone from being felt up by a very obliging alpha, to being drug bodily away by his sister.

She leads them into the alley by her building, clutching his hand so violently that he manages to register the pain through the preheat mania. They stop under the ladder of the fire escape and she drops his hand only to slap the _ever loving shit_ out of him.

"Dammit, Harry!" he hisses and brings his hand up to cover the abused cheek.

"Are you with me?" She asks sharply. The omega blinks, then focuses on his sister's face before giving a quick nod. "Good. Then don't move," Harry orders, backtracking to the mouth of the alley, before taking a running leap and grabbing the bottom rung of the ladder.

John blinks to make sure he saw that clearly. Sure enough, his sister is scurrying up to the ladder with all the grace of a three legged squirrel.

"That's not possible," he dead pans, leaning against the wall and convulsing minutely when another cramp hits him. "They design those specifically so people can't break in."

"Yep. You're lucky I fortified my bounce this morning," she grumbles as she lowers the ladder. "Come on then, up you get. Seymour is a badass, but he can't stall that mongrel forever."

John means to listen to his sister, but as he grips the first rung everything starts to get fuzzy again and his sole thought is how it feels like someone must have set him on fire without his knowledge.

"Oh for christ's sake, Johnny," the taller woman moans before leaping over the edge of the fire escape like it's one meter off the ground instead of five. "This is just sad. Pull yourself together!" Harry punctuates this sentence by punching John's butt with a strength Gaston would have found enviable.

"Jesus, alright, I'm going!"

Harry's flat is on the roof of the building and looks more like a shed than anything else. It takes four flights of stairs and two more random acts of violence to get John through the front door, and once inside Harry herds him urgently towards the bathroom. With a final shove, the man turned woman tumbles in and Harriet slams the door closed, leaving him alone.

"Harry," John pants, shucking Lestrade's jacket off. He's sweating profusely again and everything feels either itchy or scorching hot. "I don't think I can do this."

"Oh shut up and just have a wank, Johnny. It's not brain surgery."

John groans and sits with his back against the tub. He pulls his ruined pants off and flings them at the door in a fit of childish anger. They make a satisfying squick like noise on contact.

"You're so gross," he hears his sister say through the door, but there is humor in her voice.

\---

When John emerges from the bathroom one orgasm later, he feels only slightly like a monster who spends his free time in a volcano. He counts this as a victory.

The small blonde tries to decide where to sit and ends up settling on the bed. The flat is honestly more of a bedsit, with the kitchen and bedroom being in the same room. There is no dining table and the only chair is beat up and facing the window. 

"You can use some of my clothes until we get you fixed up. Check the right wardrobe. Don't open the left one," Harry explains, standing with her back to him in the kitchen area of the small flat, warming something on the stove. 

"Thanks," John says, going to the wardrobe on the right side of Harry's bed. "How'd you know I was here?" He asks, thumbing through his sister's shirts until he settles on a soft blue vest.

"Oh Johnny, I've spent so much time around you that I can't _not_ know where you are," she laughs, turning off the stove top and making her way to sit on the bed, carrying a plate of beans and american bacon with her. "Remember the binding spell I did on you and Seymour when you were ten?"

"...You were always doing weird things, I never knew when you were practicing or just being strange," the omega admits, pulling on the vest and some plain white, cotton pants. "Was that the time you made us stay in the graveyard all night?"

"Nope, that was just for fun," Harry winks, before sobering up a little and laying a hand on John's stomach, her thumb rubbing against the fabric appraisingly. "I knew something was a matter, but I didn't realize you were letting another witch doctor play with you."

"I didn't want this," John says quickly, covering the raven haired girl's hand with his own. He knows that some people would consider this kind of touching between siblings inappropriate, but Harry is a witch doctor and she has never been able to understand personal space. John doesn't mind so much anyways, he loves his sister, and she keeps her hands above the belt most of the time, so he lets it slide.

"Right," Harry huffs, dropping her hand and motioning toward the plate of food. "You tuck into that while I try and figure out how bad this is."

John does as he's told, thankful for the food, while the older girl arranges herself behind him. After about the third spoonful of beans, he feels his hair being gathered up and he turns his head just in time to see a pair of scissors cut a huge chunk golden locks away.

"How's that going to help?" He asks, eyebrow quirked. The witch doctor opens her mouth to answer, but before she gets out the reply his hair shines a pale silver and the shorn ends grow back to their original length. Harry lets out a whistle and her eyebrows migrate into her hair line.

"Goddamn, that's some strong magic," she breathes, awestruck. "We could make a killing in the weave business. Do you think if we cut off your arm, it'll grow back too?"

"I'm not a lizard," the omega grumbles. "Can you fix it?"

Harry purses her full lips. "I'm not sure yet, let me check a few more things out. Eat your bacon."

"Why american bacon?" John groans. "It's disgusting. Where do you even buy it?"

"Oh piss off, it's Seymour's favorite. I get it from the butcher shop down the street," Harry snaps, but there's no real heat to it. She goes to the wardrobe on the left, rummages around, and comes back with a small bundle of lavender and a dagger.

The med student holds out his right hand without being told to and the older woman pricks his index finger, squeezing a few drops of blood onto the lavender. John doesn't flinch and continues to munch on bacon.

Harry crosses the room and lights a candle in the window sill, holding the fragrant flowers to the flame until they give off a ominous green smoke that smells hideous. 

John gags.

"Just as I thought," Harry sighs, dumping the flowers in the sink and turning on the tap to douse them. "This is a right mess you've gotten yourself in, love."

"...But you can fix it," 

"I can't promise you anything, this other witch doctor of yours knows his stuff," his sister admits softly, sitting next to John and lays her hand on his thigh. "But I'll try for you, Johnny."

The blonde reaches down and takes his sister's now much larger hand in his own, squeezing it gently. They share a moment, before the raven haired woman gets up and clears her throat.

"Right, enough of the sentimental bullshit, I'm off to make you a cleansing bath. We've only got about another hour and half before your preheat hits again, so let's set you straight before them. I can't handle your caterwauling!"

\---

An hour later Harry deems the bath ready and ushers her little brother turned little sister into the bathroom. John sees that the old claw foot tub has been surrounded by thick lines of salt drawn in the shape of a square, with a candle at each corner. The bath has sprigs of rosemary, small juniper berries, and what appears to be yellow butterfly wings floating in it. 

The omega goes to step in but Harry stops him, holding out her hand. John places his right hand in hers and she reopens the wound on his finger, holding it over the water to squeeze a few drops into the tub. She then slices through her own palm and makes a fist, fat rivulets gushing out to meet John's own blood on the water's surface.

"Alrighty Johnny, in you go," Harry states, giving his shoulders a gentle shove. John stumbles a bit but swiftly rights himself, stepping gingerly into the bath and gripping the rim of the tub as he lowers himself into the concoction.

The water is tepid at best, but still feels too hot on his skin. John squirms uncomfortably and whines in distress as he feels the tell tale itch of the preheat resurface.

"It's alright baby brother, I've got you," the witch doctor soothes as she sits down beside the tub. She dips a washcloth into a bowl of white liquid, brings it to his face, and begins to bathe him. Whatever is on the flannel is blessedly cool and John finds himself pushing his face into.

The omega's tongue darts out of its own accord to catch a drop of the substance.

"...is this milk?"

Harry sighs. 

"Yes Johnny, it's milk and a little bit of honey. Now, would you kindly shut the fuck up so I can concentrate?"

Harry starts to chant so lowly under her breath that at first John mistakes it for humming. Her black eyes have a far away look to them as she rewets the flannel and traces it delicately over his neck and down to his collarbones. John shivers and feels his bones shift under his skin, but it doesn't sting like with Moriarty's magic. Instead it tickles, like someone has shoved a feather duster in his face.

John giggles.

"You can't giggle, it's a cleansing ritual!" Harry reprimands, but she's grinning this time. The taller woman resumes her chanting and lifts his legs out of the water one at time, taking great care to wipe down every inch of him. John marvels as his legs and feet change before his eyes, shifting from delicate curves to the thicker, much hairier shape of his original gender.

John lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

They continue on like that for a while, Harry washing him thoroughly, his body changing in her wake. It's a bit awkward when she gets to his chest and groin, but her touch is clinical, not invasive. When she finishes, the woman sits back and inspects her work, a small amount of sweat coating her brow.

"How do you feel?"

"Much better," John replies, standing and exiting the tub, his nudity not acknowledged by either of them. She hands him a towel and the blonde proceeds to dry off. "My bones still feel...thin?" He says after a moment, unsure.

"I was afraid of that," Harriet answers with pursed lips. "First genders are easy enough to change, but second genders are a bitch. I've only ever seen old witch doctors do it successfully."

They're both silent for a moment while John ties the towel tight around his waist. He grunts and scratches at his belly when he feels a contraction ripple through him.

"Looks like you're a lot less whiney as a man," Harry retorts with a smirk.

"At least it's my body, well, mostly," it did not escape John's notice that his cock is now less than half of his original size. He tries to take it in stride.

His sister opens her mouth to say something, but halts abruptly. John tenses just as there's a knock at the door.

"Yoo hooooo," sings out a terrifyingly familiar voice and John's snarling before he realizes it. "We've come to see if Johnny girl can come out to play!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured that since Harry hasn't found and lost Clara yet, she hasn't lost control of her drinking therefore her and John are still close. Also, I put a Bioshock  
> easter egg in this chapter. :D Can anyone find it? 
> 
> This is still very much unbetad, so all mistakes are mine. If you'd like the job, or you just want to chat about Sherlock fics, or you just wanna be tumblr friends, drop me a line at theprettiestponyintown.tumblr.com!


End file.
